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Lilli Sutton Apr 2019
I stretch out Thursday afternoon
until it is see-through at the edges.
I talked to so many people today
and all of them chanted: go west
but maybe that’s not what’s best for me.
Down south is crawling with ***** whispers
and I want to pull them out of the ground
and rinse them clean. Like vegetables
spread out on the kitchen table
in late September: orange and purple
and the scent of soil heavy
by the open windows.

At my aunt’s house,
as a kid, the mudroom was my favorite place -
transition point between low-ceilinged
dark and quiet inside space
and the impossible Vermont sky,
the chickens and the garden
and grass that sloped down to a valley
the size of my child fist. Sometimes in the evening
we’d see coyotes creep from the shadows
of the trees down below, or hear the foxes cry.
We would hike up the gravel road
and climb the mountain before the sun set,
scramble back down in the dusk.
I wish I remembered more
than just picking grass and slowly
splitting it into strips, to learn the way
my hands were capable of deconstructing.
But it came in useful later,
when we went into the woods
to strip the birch trees of their bark:
the best kindling for fire.

So smoke rises and chases us.
To keep the smoke away,
my aunt says, you have to think
about white rabbits. Little
does she know - my ideas
are always half-baked or burnt.
Never the way they should be.
So I do what I think I hear her say –
and I think about white rabbits,
covered in mud.
Somewhere in Vermont
I see the sky
Stars scattered
like lighting bugs back home

Clouds drift,
Cold breeze,
Threatening rain

Shaped like an unfamiliar constellation
Headlamps shine
Some red, some blue, some yellow
Some bright, some dim

There's a presence here
Neither scary
Or threatening

Or even mysterious

People breathe,
A guitar sounds,
Pens scribble
Each in unity with the other

Somewhere in Vermont
People write
Separated by space
Their own thoughts
Spilling around them

Combining as one
Yet still

Brought together
By happenstance

They breathe together
Tatiana May 2018
I wander trails that are shaded by trees
until I reach the first steep rock scramble.
Walking steadily on old, crunchy leaves
I believe it's the mountains' preamble

I scale these rocks with eager hands and feet
my yearning heart pumps blood through my blue veins.
This mountain will not hand me my defeat
muscles strain and the rocks help break my chains.

Sturdy rocks and sacred trees surround me
their presence strengthens my weak, depressed bones.
My muscles burn with effort, but I'm free
to become one with the trees and the stones.

Though there are times where my mind may plummet.
I'll survive the fall, I've reached the summit.
© Tatiana
I went to New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine with my sister these past four days. I climbed two mountains and it was such an amazing feeling to be at the top. My body was so tired and it wanted to give up so bad, but I wanted to reach the top even more. I reached the tops of both of these mountains and I was so proud of myself. I felt so accomplished and it helped me reconnect with myself in a way.
So now the next few poems I post are going to be about this trip. So be prepared for poems about mountains, natural springs, an even trains.
as snow
was laid
cross the
valley here
and aft-blown
streets still
mashed on
pavements as
the foothills
were now
pipes for
skiing that
just once
I'd see
her snow
angel tonight
Yuka Oiwa Jul 2012
Spring comes
as grasses leap forth
and emerald hues are added to the landscape,
with wildflowers peeking up from the
dewy roadside.
The world smells
fresh like worms and earth,
while birds drift down to finish last year’s
Yellow rain boots hop
out of shelves and into the puddles,
while mud gathers and plays in the road,
gurgling with mirth at passers by.
The badminton net is resurrected,
regally looming over the lawn,
as the swings squeak joyfully in the breeze.
The fireplace gives a sooty yawn
and falls to sleep.
And in the kitchen, fiddleheads unfurl upon
a hot pan
as the old and sour scent of the earth
settles upon our plates,
spring steps lightly
onto the world.

~Yuka Oiwa
May 6, 2008
This is an old poem I dug out of my computer's memory. Even though I wrote this in middle school I still really like the imagery little me came up with.
a woman I once knew
that came fly with me
why I've been there
she found 'twas me
in Rutland only she  
pitted & fell in love
yet believed in me
until such a lore
with her bikini  
by the shore
that admire  
A moonlit vacation in Vermont
Case Coniglio Jul 2017
The mist and rain of the foothills solves all ills
Foothills that were once might mountains
Grow older and wiser; yet lie still and wait
© 2017 Case Coniglio
All rights reserved
Case Coniglio Jul 2017
Long has my spirit restlessly waited
For this journey to begin
Quickly I have found this journeys end
Although, I confidently know now
The spark deep within
Burns and glows brightly
For many nights and days to come
Until, restlessness knocks again
© 2017 Case Coniglio
All rights reserved

Final thoughts after completing the Long Trail in Massachusetts.
Ma Cherie May 2017
    a moment
to sit
  in quiet

I close my eyes
to hear
what is in the silence.

beautiful summer rain
the trees
an the old metal roof
sings along
with unusual songbirds
this year
creaky aluminum
bends in temperature changes
a door sways
back an forth
gentle rhythms
all together
a benevolent band
wet parachuting droplets
bursting on impact,
a soft howling wind
their tune.

my ears hummmm..

with vibrations,

I only hear
when I listen
so intently to life.

which is something
I need to do more often
to be honest
amongst the utter
chaos an confusion
I am currently in.

contentedness for me
is a destination I seek.

it is then-
it is then when I find my ZEN,
where I can honestly be
I honestly am
for even
the pain
that I have felt.

that I've endured.

that I have persevered over.

you might wonder?

I think it is simple-
cumulus clouds provide rain,
rain provides water,
water is life.

I am water,
an therefore
I wish to be.
Mindfulness and meditation so this is something different for me  this type of poetry. it's so lovely here in Vermont. If anyone has a topic about Vermont they want me to write about I will try. Much thanks poets
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